The monkey on my back

Many times, people postpone doing certain activities and nothing happens. There’s no feeling of blame. But the problem is when an activity like writing, for example, has become a habit that exerts a strong pressure. Although the feeling of frustration is hidden, there are times that necessity of writing appears time after time. In spite of the attempts to enjoy the different moments of life, the shadow of that incomplete project appears from time to time. It is like a monkey bothering me on my back or the insistent song of a cricket. All pleasure disappears rapidly. Then, the simple fact of starting writing diminishes the anxiety and self-confidence is restored.

This is my comment about "Write at your peril" by Ursula Holden.

Time does not bring relief

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain!

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year's bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go - so with his memory they brim.

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St Vincent Millay (1892 -1950)

CONCLUSION
In this poem, the author expresses the deep melancholy she feels because of the loss of someone she loved (an old love, a relative or a friend). But she mainly highlights her conviction that the passing of time is not enough to relieve the bitter sensations produced by the distancing with her lover.
She uses elements from nature to describe the sensations. She points out the everlasting feelings even though she looks for places where she has never been. I find this poem very interesting and deep. It is a pleasure to read it.

I AM...

I am sensitive to her caress.

I am mate of her adventures.

I am companion of her games.

I am her support when she is scared.

I am the mirror that she looks at.

I am her mum.

MY LISTING POEM

Love...
Is the purest feeling,
The one that distinguishes nothing,
The one that can manage everything,
The one that can cross borders.

Because of love we live,
Because of love we enjoy,
Because of love we suffer,
Because of love we die.

Beautiful, pure, sublime,
Persevering, selfless, invisible,
Without love the air is missing,
Without love we are nothing.

LANDSCAPES OF LOVE

WHAT LITERATURE IS FOR ME